“I should think you'd be in the city. Limitations to this sort of thing, aren't there?”
“I like it,” said Dick, with an eye on the office clock.
“Patients are your friends, of course. Born and raised here, I suppose?”
“Not exactly. I was raised on a ranch in Wyoming. My father had a ranch out there.”
Bassett shot a glance at him, but Dick was calm and faintly smiling.
“Wyoming!” the reporter commented. “That's a long way from here. Anywhere near the new oil fields?”
“Not far from Norada. That's the oil center,” Dick offered, good-naturedly. He rose, and glanced again at the clock. “If those headaches continue you'd better have your eyes examined.”
Bassett was puzzled. It seemed to him that there had been a shade of evasion in the other man's manner, slightly less frankness in his eyes. But he showed no excitement, nothing furtive or alarmed. And the open and unsolicited statement as to Norada baffled him. He had to admit to himself either that a man strongly resembling Judson Clark had come from the same neighborhood, or—
“Norada?” he said. “That's where the big Clark ranch was located, wasn't it? Ever happen to meet Judson Clark?”
“Our place was very isolated.”